


alone again

by inniterz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Not Beta Read, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), the comfort is not genuine but it’s there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inniterz/pseuds/inniterz
Summary: "They don’t care about me, do they?"Or, Tommy gets a hug.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	alone again

The beach party flopped.

Tommy wasn’t expecting it, to say the least. He had prepared everything, mined the shore for hours under the hot sun, even when he felt like he was going to trip and fall face first onto the floor at any given moment - even when he wanted to give up, to drop the pickaxe and run into his tent, curl on himself, and close his eyes because it was all so exhausting, and god he couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t even finish it in time, he was going to mess it up, like always, because it was why they exiled him, because he was a nuisance-

He remembered gripping the pickaxe, far more tightly than necessary. He remembered scrubbing his eyes, scrubbing away the tears that threatened to fall out - he wasn’t gonna cry, he wasn’t a fucking pussy, he was a big man, and big men never fucking cry. Big men never give up. And he wasn’t a kid, he wasn’t going to cry because of his stupid bottled up emotions, and he was going to finish decorating, to finish preparing everything for his friends.

He should’ve known better, really. Throwing a party was a stupid fucking idea. None of his friends showed up - none, except Dream, of course, but Tommy wasn’t sure if Dream was really his friend, and he didn’t like thinking about it because it turned his brain all mushy, full of unanswered questions that he chose to ignore, and still ignored, right now, as he watched the sunset with Dream sitting beside him, on a bench he built with his own two fucking hands.

_Where’s everyone else?_

The atmosphere was cold, the silence hanging heavily in the air, the wind swirling through the remnants of his pathetic excuse of a party, and Tommy realized for the first time since the beginning of his exile how truly alone he was.

He was alone, all alone on this shitty excuse of an island. He was all alone when he shivered on his cot, when he heard the shrieks of the mobs nearby, when he crafted armor that he knew will end up blown up ( _you know the drill, Tommy_ ). 

He was all alone when he watched the purple particles of the nether portal dancing before him, when he stared at the gate and wished that someones would appear, that his friends will come, that anyone will come other than Dream.

At the end of the day, it was Dream’s stupid smiling mask that stared right back at him, when he stepped out of the portal, and he didn’t even greet him properly - _put your armor in the hole, Tommy._

Every time, he had half a mind to resist, to just throw his fist across that green bastard’s face, and he thought about how satisfying breaking the mask would be - the mask that always bored into his soul, the eyes always following him wherever he went _(he could practically feel the burning hot stare at his back when he mined, he could feel it linger a little too long on his body when he fought monsters desperately with his wooden sword - until Dream came to the rescue, of course, like he always did)._

Every time, it took one glance at the man in full netherite, sword in hand, and he lifted his arms and took off his armor - and he threw it in the hole.

Every time, he curled and uncurled his hand, nails digging into soft flesh, as Dream took a lighter and blew up the result of his hard work.

It didn’t sting as much as it used to be. It was a routine at this point - building, making things that were bound to be destroyed anyways. He knew that he should’ve given up by now, but well, one thing about Tommy was that he was stubborn - stopping would mean giving up. And Tommyinnit never gave up, nope, never.

He could see Dream’s mask lifting up from the hole in the ground, and he could feel his gaze settling on him again, and he heard him with that infuriating voice of his -

_So, what’ve you been up to?_

Tommy hated his voice - he hated it, especially when he heard it say his name. It send a chill down his spine, when he heard Dream speak suddenly right behind him, or when he called out his name in _that_ tone — and he really, really despised it.

He realized that he hated everything about Dream. He hated his voice, his stupid fucking mask, his stupid fucking clothes, his hair. His hands that stayed too long on his shoulder, on his forearms when he almost tripped - and he pretended he didn’t notice, as if he didn’t care, as if the touch didn’t feel like Dream lit up a torch against his skin. He hated thinking about him.

He caught himself longing for his presence. Longing for him, when he was all alone. Longing for the feeling he got every time they joked together, every time the tension eased between them, every time Tommy felt a little more like himself _(he only felt like himself when Dream was here)_. He couldn’t help but wonder when he’ll be back, wonder when the silence will be filled with noises again, wonder when he’ll have any interaction other than the encounters he had with the villagers, or the zombies or skeletons or creepers that chased after him.

He hated himself for it - not more than he hated the green fucker, but close. He hated Dream so, so bad, but he was the only one who visited him. At the beginning, other people visited too - Badboyhalo, Sapnap _(even if it was just once, to mock him)_ , Fundy, Ranboo _(he wasn’t receiving letters from him anymore. he pretended that it didn’t hurt)_... he watched, as the list progressively shortened, until no one came again. Except Dream, of course.

Tommy heard fingers snap in front of his face, abruptly making him remember that he was still sitting in the middle of his ruined party.

"Tommy? Are you even listening?"

Tommy winced at the harsh tone, and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Yeah, sorry big D. Didn’t mean too." And God, he _cringed_ at how defeated he sounded - his voice lacked his usual bite, and he wasn’t that fucking polite ever when he was talking to Dream.

He blamed it on his never ending exhaustion.

He resumed into looking at the sun disappearing behind the horizon, behind the endless sea that separated him from everything he loved, from his friends, his discs.

He didn’t say anything, when he felt Dream’s arm casually swing on his shoulders - it didn’t even remotely startle him, and he could feel Dream staring, and he knew the motherfucker was _smiling._

"You’re being awfully quiet today, Tommy. Did something happen?"

Tommy whipped his head towards him, and narrowed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in a barely hidden sudden _(weak, but it was there)_ anger.

"You- you fucker! You know exactly what happened! Fucking green son of a bitch!" He said, pointing a finger at Dream’s chest.

He suddenly stood up, clenching his fists as a burning hot rage overcame him, and he felt fire seep into his bones, and he could feel tears dangerously prickling at his eyes and - _was he crying?_

He swept away the tears with the back of his hand before spinning on his heels to face Dream, refusing to let him, out of all people, see him at his weakest point. It just took a biting remark from the bastard to send him into a near mental breakdown.

_(He knew that Dream already saw him at his weakest point, several times. Dream was always here, always watching)._

He stared at the mask in front of him, black dots boring into him as Dream titled his head to the side, a gesture so innocent it made Tommy’s blood boil, and he wanted nothing more to rip the mask off and crush it beneath his foot, and watch as it cracked - and he would stomp on it until it became dust, until there was nothing more than white sand on the ground.

He felt something hot slide on his cheeks, and he realized through the fog that surrounded his angry brain that he was indeed crying, and god, that was so fucking frustrating, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling, even as he scrubbed his eyes until they were raw and sore, and-

"They don’t care about me, do they?" His voice sounded raspy and broken, and he hated that, but now that he started talking, it felt like he couldn’t stop anymore, the words falling out of his mouth like a never ending flow.

"They don’t give a shit about me! They don’t give a fuck! I gave up everything for them - I gave up the fucking discs, and- and they betrayed me, they exiled me, and this is the only thing they had to do for me, after fucking me over! They just had to fucking show up, and pretend to be happy to be there! That was all I fucking asked for!"

He took in a sharp, ragged breath, digging his fingernails in his arm, leaving red prints, as his vision blurred, as he stood there, shaking like a leaf, in front of his mortal enemy, in front of his only friend.

"I did everything for them, I built and organized everything for them, because I wanted to make this _hellhole_ look decent, for them, and they didn’t even come. They- they didn’t even come."

He hadn’t heard Dream get up - so he flinched when he felt fingerless gloves touch his arm, prying it gently away from the spot where Tommy was scratching at, desperate to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the constant aching in his heart, the constant feeling that something was missing, and god, he missed them so much, he missed his friends so much ( _were they even his friends anymore? were they even his friends in the first place?_ ) -

Arms pulled him into a tight hug. They were invasive, they felt like a cage and they did not feel safe, or gentle at all, and Tommy couldn’t help but recoil at the sudden touch, and-

Tommy broke down. He outrightly let out a pained sob, and suddenly dissolved into a mess of tears, wails wracking his body as he clung onto Dream like a lifeline, staining his hoodie with water and snot, as the man rubbed slow, comforting circles on his back.

Tommy cried like he never cried, letting out weeks of guilt, frustration, pain - something he never allowed himself to do when it became too much, in L’Manberg, when he felt the arrow _(Dream’s arrow)_ go through him like he was nothing.

In Pogtopia, when he watched his brother descend into madness.

When he watched Technoblade kill his best friend without being able to do anything _(was Tubbo ever his friend?)_.

When he watched Philza run a sword through Wilbur’s stomach, taking his life _(he was on the verge of tears, when it happened, but Philza glanced at him like he was disappointed, like he knew what was about to happen, and Tommy forced the tears to go away)._

When he watched as Tubbo looked down at him, at the edge of the obsidian walls, something akin to sadness settled into his eyes, as Tommy was dragged away, manhandled into a boat, as he watched the sight of L’Manberg, the sight of his _home_ , disappear.

He cried during what felt like hours, the gentle hand rubbing his back, the comforting touch never stopping, and it felt so good. He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone hugged him.

He slowly calmed down, his sobs turning into quiet sniffles. He finally detached himself from the older man, letting go of the fabric he was twisting onto just minutes ago - it was _soft_ , something Tommy hadn’t felt in ages. His clothes were torn and tattered, he was missing a shoe, he always felt so, so cold, the unforgiving wind mercilessly biting his skin every time he stepped out of his tent. He wanted nothing more than grab Dream’s hoodie again, he would give everything up right now if it meant touching it again - he would let Dream blow up his inventory five times in a row if it meant feeling it again.

But he shook off these thoughts, shame settling deep into his guts - shame that only intensified when he stepped away from Dream, when he saw the wet patches that soiled Dream’s hoodie. He opened his mouth without thinking,

"Yeah, uh, sorry.." His voice cracked. "M’Sorry about this."

"S’okay."

He almost flinched, hearing how cold Dream’s voice was, so different from the warmth it radiated minutes ago, when he whispered sweet nothings _(it’s okay, you’re okay, i’m here now, everything will be alright, i’m here, i care)_ into his ear, hushing him, comforting him.

"Thank you." The words fell out before he could stop them. Dream tilted his head, and Tommy felt the tip of his ears redden. He never says _thank you_ , especially not to _Dream._

Still, Dream’s tone made him feel weird - he didn’t like how cold, how uncaring it was. He wanted it to be warm again, he wanted- he wanted to please the man before him, anything to get it back. He didn’t want Dream to be mad at him. _(he chose to ignore the alarms blaring in his brain. since when did he care about what Dream thought?)_

Tommy looked at him, through puffy eyes, and cleared his throat,

"Yeah.. I mean it, Dream. That was- that was nice. You weren’t, you weren’t obligated to do that, you know that. Not saying I didn’t like it, big man, not at all, it was nice- yeah, it was nice." Tommy sputtered, stumbling on his words, feeling his face heat up even more.

He looked down and stared pointedly at his feet, twisting his fingers, embarrassment burning in every fiber of his being.

He felt so ashamed, for being pushed down until he was just a meek shell of what he used to be - the Tommy who was loud, bratty, annoying. Not the Tommy bawling in Dream’s arms, not the Tommy who apologized, not the Tommy who said thank you, not the Tommy who wanted to please, who wanted to please so badly - and Dream just happened to be the only constant in his life. Dream, who came, and left - who checked on him _(burned his stuff),_ who distracted him _(watched him mine, in silence except for the usual taunting. watched him mine until he couldn’t do it anymore, every muscle in his body protesting),_ who was his only friend _(was he?)._

He felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder, and almost flinched. Almost. 

"Oh, Tommy. You know I care about you."

Tommy felt himself nod. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, still refusing to make eye contact.

"I mean, I’m the only one who came, right? I came here because I care."

Tommy’s head shot up, staring directly into the mask that was looking down at him.

He cared. He came because he cared. Because he cared about him.

_(The others did not care. They never cared. They never cared about him.)_

And Tommy was just a teenager - he was a teenager who craved warmth, a teenager who craved comfort, validation, a teenager who wanted nothing more than someone, anyone, to talk to, to be friends with. He wanted someone to care, to care about him for who he was. He was more than the discs, he was more than his place in the SMP, more than the vice president. He was more than the loud, energetic _(annoying)_ Tommyinnit everyone knew.

He was just a teenager, a child who saw too much, who had been through so much - too much wars, too many betrayals. He had seen so much blood, too much blood. He had seen his home crumble before his eyes, he had seen his own brother die, sword piercing through his chest. He had seen the look in Tubbo’s eyes, when he found out he burned down George’s house. He had seen him turn away, and leave, like everyone else _(everyone left)._

He was so, so tired. So tired of all these wars, all these conflicts - he wanted to be a teenager again, he wanted to laugh like before, he wanted to be happy like before, with everyone else-

But no one cared, no one wanted him, no one wanted him back.

 _Dream_ \- Dream was the only one who cared. Dream was the one who was there, at his pathetic excuse of a party. He was the one who comforted him, he was the one holding him when he cried.

And that was enough, really. He wanted to trust him so badly, he wanted a shoulder to cry onto, he wanted to allow himself to be weak, for once in his life - and if it was in front of his mortal enemy, then so be it.

"... Yeah." He paused, let go of his shirt, straightened his posture. He looked up. He hadn’t realized it was night already, stars shining mockingly at him.

"It’s... yeah, whatever, uhm - it’s getting late, you probably need to head back.."

_(He didn’t want Dream to head back, he wanted him to stay so bad it hurt.)_

Dream seemed to consider his options - Tommy could feel the man’s intense gaze fixated on his body.

Dream finally nodded, and went up to gather his tools and weapons. He swung the backpack over his shoulders, and walked towards the Nether portal, Tommy short on his tail.

He nearly stumbled over a rock, and winced when he felt the sharp edge of it cut through a hole in an already worn out shoe. He caught himself up, and quickly scrambled to Dream, who was already at the portal, watching Tommy move towards him.

The words went out of his mouth before he could stop them,

"You’ll come back tomorrow, right?"

And this, this was new - Tommy never asked that before, it was always loud curses that flew to Dream whenever he announced that he was leaving, it was always loud _Finally_ , and _Please never come back._

Not whatever that was.

The silence hung in the air, Dream’s face unreadable beneath the mask _(and Tommy wished he could see his face, read it, to at least know if he fucked up again, if he did something wrong, if Dream was mad-)_

"Of course, Tommy."

The words snapped him out of his trance, and looking up at the man, he swore he saw him smile behind the mask.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then?"

"See you tomorrow."

And Tommy watched as Dream stepped through the portal, purple smoke engulfing him - and suddenly, he was out of sight.

And Tommy was alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> hope you enjoyed! i was sad and i’m rewatching the exile arc so. yeah. it may be a little ooc on dream’s part tbh but it’s just because i can’t write dialogue lol.
> 
> it’s actually the first time i’ve ever written something that isn’t for my english class. also english isn’t my first language LOL please don’t be mean i will cry :(


End file.
